Remembering the Musical Legacy: A Reflection on His Influence and Passing of Jimmy Buffett

There is a large handful of musicians who narrate our lives, and some drift in and out, their songs catching the light of a passing mood. But a few remain, always there, humming beneath the surface, part of the background music that never really stops. For me, Jimmy Buffett has always been one of those few.

I’ve been listening to Buffett since before I understood what music even was. My dad is a Parrothead, and in time, all of us became Parrotheads: my dad, my mother, my sister, and I. At every stage of my life, his music has been there: through stereo speakers in the living room, cassette players and Walkmans, iPods and iPhones, car speakers, stage left and nosebleeds, and anything that could catch and carry sound.

Right now, sitting in my room at the Murray Hotel in Livingston, Montana, I can hear his music resonating through the pipes of the boilers, exploring the historic building like a harmonic web among its skeleton, originating from the bar below. The Murray Bar has been playing Jimmy Buffett all day.

Jimmy Buffett died yesterday, September 1, 2023. He was 76. And now all his songs are playing together inside my head, and I feel drunk with disbelief. Buffett was bigger than any genre. He wrote stories and laced them with songs, and everyone who listened to him could experience the world in a way that was just a little better than those who didn’t. It wasn’t his laissez-faire latitude that made his music appealing; it was his ability to help us relate to one another more easily, more genuinely, more tactilely than anyone else ever has, except, maybe, Freddie Mercury.

“*Where it all ends, I can't fathom my friends, If I knew I might toss out my anchor, So I cruise along, always searchin’ for songs, Not a lawyer, a thief, or a banker.” ~ Son of a Son of a Sailor

The last time I was home, my family sat around the fire pit outside. My dad played Buffett’s newly released album Songs You Don’t Know by Heart. Of course, he knew all of them by heart. The rest of us knew most. We drank margaritas, watched the fire, and sang with Jimmy Buffett, because that’s what we do. That’s what he gave us.

Songs You Know by Heart is one of four or five albums that have followed me throughout my life. It’s literally sat in the side panel of my car door for the last twenty years. Despite the other albums there, they’ve been played from start to finish, then left to resume, again and again, more than any other.

Nearly two years ago, I took a job in Bozeman, Montana. And throughout my search for affordable housing, I found Livingston. I quickly learned that Livingston has a kinship with Jimmy Buffett. Besides his contribution to the film Rancho Deluxe, the song “Livingston Saturday Night” is about this town. His sister Laurie married author Thomas McGuane, a Livingston native who penned the screenplay for Rancho Deluxe. I asked around during my first few months here about Buffett: how often he’d make an appearance. I was always told the people at the Murray Hotel had a relationship with him.

It had been a while since anyone at the Murray Bar had seen him. But I did learn about the local lore behind “Cheeseburger in Paradise.” There are several legends, but according to those here who knew him, Buffett stopped at Mark’s In & Out—a 1950s-style burger joint with a walk-up window. With his cheeseburger in hand, he drove through Paradise Valley, between Livingston and Yellowstone National Park. Hence the name.

There are enough legends that even those who knew him well may no longer know the truth. Or maybe there’s truth in all of them. I know that when I hear “Cheeseburger in Paradise,” I can’t help but sing along. And that’s true of most of his music.

I hoped I’d bump into Jimmy Buffett at least once while living here. I imagined him sitting at the Murray Bar one afternoon when I walked in, easily recognizable. I’d park myself on a stool nearby, wait for my moment, and offer some insight into the form of lyrics he’d written. Everyone in the bar would get lost at the moment as two or three beers slipped away.

Everyone has their handful of people who, when they pass, the world no longer feels the same. It may not always be easy to understand why these people, more than others, influence our worldview. Nevertheless, they do. And they do it profoundly. It struck me when Robin Williams passed away. And it struck me again today.

Buffett’s legacy is vast. He sold over 20 million certified records worldwide. He was posthumously inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2024. He built an empire around the “island escapism” lifestyle, restaurants, resorts, radio stations, and retirement communities. But more than that, he gave us a way to live. A way to sing. A way to be. And for me, he gave me a soundtrack. One that never stopped playing.

“Jimmy, some of it’s magic, some of it’s tragic, but I had a good life all the way.” — He Went to Paris. Thank you, Jimmy.